


Those Who Are Left Behind

by turnedherbrain



Category: The Living and the Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst, F/M, Post-Canon, Slow Burn, Unofficial Sequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-19 09:16:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11310351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turnedherbrain/pseuds/turnedherbrain
Summary: "How can the dead be truly dead, when they still live in the souls of those who are left behind?"Carson McCullers, ‘The Heart Is a Lonely Hunter’It’s January 1895 at Shepzoy. Nathan and Charlotte Appleby try to re-build their marriage after the catastrophic events of the past year, and care for their newborn daughter.In a parallel but out-of-sync present day, Nathan and Charlotte begin to realise there is a mutual attraction. However, the circumstances in which they’ve met hinder them from voicing their feelings.A few story elements were prompted by Ashley Pharoah’s Twitter Q&A, helpfullycollated by @whatliesbeneath on Tumblr. The rest is all my own imagination.





	1. Winter

**Shepzoy, January 1895**

A lone figure walked up the lane in the moonlight, scudding clouds partially veiling the silver light. Tall trees stood leafless on either side. She had challenged herself to walk in the dark; to see whether she could tempt the ghosts and spirits the villagers always talked of out of their hiding places. After all that had happened, she was beginning to believe in old wives’ tales.

Nothing. Not a sound. Not even a scurry of a nocturnal creature in amongst the skeletal leaves that had frozen hard to the ground.

She kept on walking, shivering slightly in her winter shawl. The dawn would come soon, slowly whittling away at the night, but she would reach her destination before then. She could make out the shape on the horizon now, looming blankly. Shepzoy House. She’d made a promise to herself not to go back there, but… duty called. Duty? Well, it was partly that, mixed with a genuine longing to feel part of that place again. No ghosts would scare her off.

Step after step: tread tread tread. The house was much closer, a pale bone lying on the dark landscape. The pond at the front of the house had netting cast over it now; she knew why. Too much had been claimed too soon by this land.

Climbing up the garden steps to the front door, she hesitated before knocking. She didn’t want to disturb the household too early in the day. But the need for warmth from a fire in the grate overrode her desire not to disturb.

Knock knock. The house door was flung open in less than a minute, and a young woman of almost her age burst out, red hair loose and trailing, still in her long nightgown. She was enveloped in a hug.

“Gwen! Thank goodness you’ve come. I’m completely at my wit’s end.” The red-haired apparition was Charlotte Appleby, mistress of Shepzoy House and its environs.

Gwen – for that was the walker’s name – gently disentangled herself from the hug. She smiled, curtsied slightly, and said: “Mam. I’m glad to be home. How’s the little one?”

“Come see, come…” Charlotte motioned for Gwen to come inside. “You must be cold. What on Earth made you walk here through the night?” Charlotte talked hurriedly, clearly distracted, as she led Gwen into the parlour. She didn’t wait for an answer, but gestured for Gwen to take a seat, then disappeared from the room. The grate was already laid for that day’s fire, so Gwen got up and stoked last night’s embers until the flames were spreading. She spread out her hands thankfully over the glowing heat.

Charlotte reappeared, carrying a small bundle as if it was precious cargo. She carefully proffered the bundle to Gwen. “Gwen? This is Madeleine.”

“Oh, child,” cooed Gwen, taking the bundle and cradling it. Madeleine’s soft face peeped out from within the swaddle. She was sound asleep.

Charlotte collapsed into a nearby armchair, her face in her hands. “You been finding it hard, miss?” asked Gwen, genuinely affected.

“Oh Gwen… you know I can cope with an acre of truculent farmhands. But one tiny baby is defeating me!”

“Miss… don’t be so hard on yourself. All baby needs right now is to sleep and to feed. It’s no more complicated than that. You must be very tired. Why don’t you get some sleep? I’ll cradle Madeleine and wake you when she’s hungry,” counselled Gwen.

“Thank you. You don’t know how glad I was that you agreed to act as nursemaid. Nathan tries to help too, but…”

“… but he’s a man?”

Charlotte looked up and smiled. “Exactly.” Her face looked tired and drawn in the weak morning light, but her fighting spirit still glimmered through.

“How is Master Nathan?”

“He’s well, Gwen. Much better than before. We hope to have banished all ill luck from Shepzoy.” Charlotte knew that this slightly cryptic answer would be understood.

“There can be no ill luck with this little one around,” reassured Gwen, looking down at Madeleine. “Now, please rest. I’ll make you some breakfast so that you have some sustenance when you wake.”

“Thank you, Gwen.” Charlotte came over to lightly kiss Madeleine, then kissed Gwen quickly on the cheek too before escaping from the room. Gwen knew better than to question this breach of mistress-servant protocol; it was one of the many reasons why she liked Charlotte Appleby.

On receipt of Charlotte’s pleading letter, Gwen had returned because she knew that Charlotte wouldn’t ask unless she really needed help. But her walk through the night had been to test whether she was brave enough to return at all. She truly wanted to believe in her own comforting words: that Madeleine’s arrival meant the banishment of any lingering spirits at Shepzoy.

…………………………

**Bristol, January 2017**

From her office window, Dr Charlotte Standon could see an early evening frost that had wrapped itself around tree branches. The sky was a dull silver-grey colour, slowly turning to slate as the sun dipped down to rest.

It was just before her last appointment on a Friday and she’d given herself five minutes to reappraise the case notes. Glancing back to the reams of dense type on the computer screen, she scrolled down and down. Seventeen sessions’ worth. She was doing this more to reassure herself that all was in order, for she knew this case by heart. Today was the patient’s last session, and Charlotte felt a mixture of emotions: glad, because they had made so much progress, but sad because she knew this was the end.

She looked forward to these sessions – always booked for the very end of the week to accommodate the patient’s busy work schedule. He was an architect in a city practice (“I specialise in ‘sympathetic restorations’,” he’d told her) and spent most of his week buried waist-deep in technical drawings, or in meetings with clients, diplomatically trying to wrestle their vision into something approaching affordable reality. Or at least, that was what she imagined he did. But she’d spent far too much time imagining him recently.

This was the more pressing reason why their sessions needed to come to an end: the man she’d first encountered: a grieving, fragile man, who she’d helped to rebuild, was now becoming more attractive with each hour-long session. For that reason alone, they had to stop: she couldn’t risk her professional reputation on a romantic whim.

She’d rented an office at this private counselling practice less than a year ago. Escaping from London, she’d told herself that a new city and a new practice would be just what she needed. The reality was: a booming professional practice; a minuscule city-centre apartment that cost more than the rent on her office, and an ache where her heart should be. Despite her best intentions, the move here hadn’t been quite enough to dispel a terrible ending to a terrible relationship. Although even that feeling was now fading with time, like everything did.

Charlotte glanced at the clock on the wall as the practice receptionist buzzed through the patient. “Dr Standon? Mr Appleby’s here to see you.” On time as always. She liked that about him.

Nathan Appleby was a tall, lean man, with a sweep of jet-black hair and a dark beard that framed his face and made him look older, more distinguished somehow. Dressed for work, he was wearing a blue serge suit and brogues. She liked that about him too: his old-fashioned, gentlemanly bearing.

“I’m glad to be in from the cold!” shivered Nathan. “I left my overcoat at home this morning and I feel like the chill got me and won’t let go.”

“It’s pretty warm in here,” replied Charlotte. “You can thaw out.”

Nathan settled on the sofa opposite her, and they soon fell into the regular pattern for their sessions: discussing what had happened in Nathan’s life in the previous week, how he had felt about interactions with others, and how his coping strategies were working. Charlotte was pleased to see that he was more effusive than before; clearly starting to enjoy his work and his life again. She felt proud at the progress he had made.

Towards the end of the session, Nathan paused and said fake-nonchalantly: “Oh, I forgot. You know you suggested drawing still life, as a form of therapy?”

Charlotte nodded. It had been quite some time ago, and she hadn’t pressed him to pursue it.

“Well, I’ve discovered that I have quite a passion for botany. I’ve brought some of my botanical sketches of flowers to show you.” Nathan removed a sketchbook from his work satchel and laid it on the table between them.

“That’s wonderful Nathan. I would love to see them. Can I take a look now?”

Nathan nodded. Picking up the sketchbook, Charlotte flicked through the precise representations, admiring his undeniable artistic talent. She stopped at a picture of calla lilies rendered with astonishing clarity and gave an involuntary sigh: “Ah, these are beautiful!”

Nathan came over to see what she was describing and bent down to view the picture: “Olivia always liked those…” he murmured, then looked up at Charlotte, meeting her gaze for a little too long. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” countered Charlotte. She closed the sketchbook and indicated that he should sit back down, trying to re-establish an atmosphere of formality. “How did you feel, when you drew these?”

“I felt… OK. It’s still technical drawing of a kind – but it’s for pleasure, not for work. It’s really freed me up, to be honest. I can look at that drawing and not feel sad, even though it’s associated with her.”

“That’s excellent. I think you have done so well, Nathan.”

“Do you? It’s taken me a long time to stop feeling like every day is another mountain to climb.”

“Grief is a long-term process, and your loss was double. You can carry it with you for much longer than you suppose. One day, it might reappear in some unexpected circumstance. The difference will be that you can exercise the strategies you have learnt, to lessen the impact of that feeling.”

“Dr Standon, when I talk to you, I feel like I’m discoursing with an old soul.”

Charlotte shook her head. “Really? I’d say you’re the old soul! No-one uses the word ‘discourse’ anymore.”

“True, true,” nodded Nathan. “Although I like being out of sync with modern times. Too many ‘Nates’.”

Charlotte, realising what he was alluding to, laughingly replied: “And too many ‘Charlottes’ being ‘Chars’.”

“I think you suit Charlotte. It’s far more ladylike.”

“And you suit being called Nathan.”

There was a short silence. Charlotte felt like an invisible barrier had finally broken down and there was nothing stopping them but the physical space in between them. She needed to regain control. Gathering up some papers from her desk, she said: “I’ve prepared a few things for you to take away with you. Nothing major, just…”

“… homilies for every occasion?” Nathan was definitely teasing her now.

“More like daily mantras. Take them or leave them, as you wish.”

“I’ll take them. Anything else?”

“No… just: good luck!” Her cheery tone was at odds with the creeping sadness inside.

“Thanks. Do we shake hands?”

Charlotte laughed again. “No, that’s not needed. Although if you could ask the receptionist for a feedback form on the way out, I’d be really grateful if you could fill it in. You can do it anonymously.”

“If I like?”

“If you like.”

“Well… thank you, Dr Standon.” Nathan rose to leave hesitatingly, as if he wanted to say something further.

“Charlotte,” she insisted.

“Charlotte. Thank you, Charlotte. You really have made a difference. I’ll be sure to put that in my feedback.”

Then he shook her hand, all formality re-established, and the next moment he was gone. Charlotte breathed a deep sigh: partly in relief, partly in nervous excitement at what had just happened. It wasn’t just her. But where did they go from here?


	2. Spring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The portrait of John Ruskin that Charlotte tries to make Nathan pose like, is [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Ruskin_\(painting\))

**Shepzoy, April 1895**

It was an early morning in mid-April. Night-time showers had succumbed to a fresh dawn and a lilting breeze ruffled the hedgerows. All over Shepzoy, the bare forms of winter had been all but buried by the established shoots of spring bulbs, littering the lanes with their bursts of colour.

Charlotte was jolted out of sleep from a tangled dream, where she couldn’t find her husband or child. She was searching frantically for them in a dark, unknown place.

On waking, she was absurdly comforted to find Nathan still asleep beside her, with Maddie lying safe in the crook of his arm. It was such a perfect picture, she had to resist going to fetch her camera equipment. Instead, she mentally captured the image and stored it in her mind’s eye.

She woke Nathan by leaning over and gently nuzzling his cheek with the tip of her nose.

“Mmmnnmm,” said Nathan, turning his face and kissing her.

“This scene: of you and Maddie. It’s perfect,” whispered Charlotte.

“I was trying to settle her since before the light. I think I must have drifted off to sleep again before I could carry her back to her cot,” said Nathan groggily.

“No matter. It’s a beautiful day. Would you like to take a walk in the bluebell woods?”

“Just the two of us?”

“The three of us. I can fashion a sling from my shawl and carry Maddie with me. Gideon saw Charlie Peacock yesterday, he said he’d been up the woods and they are near filled with bluebells.”

“Spoken like a true local,” grinned Nathan, still sleepily but with his eyes half-open now and teasing.

“I’ve been out of London society too long.”

“Did you ever care to **be** part of London society?” mocked Nathan.

“Not at all. Polite society was **stifling**! We can roam the woods here and do as we choose.”

“And manage the farm, and do the accounts, and tend to the sick and needy in the parish…” rejoined Nathan. Due to his expertise as a psychologist, he’d been called in of late to give advice on the villagers’ various ailments, very few of which were ailments of the mind.

“Let’s forget our responsibilities for one day and roam the woods like Romantic poets. I can bring my camera and you can pose like a latter-day Ruskin.”

“Charlotte Appleby…” began Nathan.

“Yes?”

“I love you. Very, very much.”

“And I love you, Nathan Appleby.” She leant over to kiss him again. At that moment, as if knowing her cue, Maddie stirred and started to purse her lips, an indicator that she was looking to feed. Not that Charlotte had known any of that, of course, but Gwen had patiently explained the signs. As the eldest of six children, Gwen had often played surrogate mother to her own brothers and sisters.

…………………………

Maddie fed and changed, they headed up the hill to the woods soon after breakfast, having gathered all of Charlotte’s camera equipment, Maddie’s many accoutrements and Nathan’s sketchbook. His latest diversion was botanical illustration, and he wanted to try and capture the bluebells in their full glory.

Climbing the low hill in the sunshine, they kept to the field’s edge, the dry stone wall just on the side of them. Nathan carried the camera and tripod over his shoulder, as well as their lunch and his sketchbook in a knapsack. Charlotte lifted her skirts to avoid them becoming sodden on the still-damp grass. Maddie, nestled in her sling, had drifted off to sleep again.

Reaching the brow of the hill, Charlotte took a left turn under the canopy of trees. Nathan put down the camera equipment for a moment and paused to look back at the wide, flat valley below, the village of Shepzoy in miniature on the horizon. He felt finally at peace.

Having drunk his fill of the pleasant scene, Nathan turned to pick up the camera and follow his wife and daughter under the green canopy. The woods were ‘near filled’, as Charlie had put it. Sunlight filtering through the treetops sent down a misty cast of light on the flowers that had sprung up in the past few weeks. It was a beautiful sight.

Nathan spread out a rug and, helping Charlotte to unwrap her sling, he carefully laid Maddie down. The baby stirred and started to mouth for a feed again, so he spent some time doing preliminary sketches of the bluebells while Charlotte fed Maddie.

Viewing the tableau of his wife and daughter in such a natural pose, Nathan felt at rest; blessedly at odds with the terror that had gripped him the previous year. Charlotte had patiently nurtured him back to life, and Maddie’s arrival had made their family complete.

Having finished feeding Maddie, Charlotte swayed and sang until the baby fell asleep in her arms. Then, laying her down on the rug, she started to set up her camera equipment.

“How long an exposure time will you need?” asked Nathan, looking up from the rock where he was sketching the flower heads and stalks.

“Longer than usual. There’s not that much sunlight filtering through.” Uncapping the large lens, she continued: “I’d like to take your portrait first, before the bluebells.”

“Must I? You know how much I resist having my portrait taken,” replied Nathan, semi-seriously.

“That reminds me of the night we first met... do you remember? You had to be persuaded into the portrait group with the others.”

“Yes. And if you hadn’t been the one persuading me…”

While Charlotte continued to set up the camera and add a plate to take his photograph, Nathan recalled the party where they’d first met.

He’d decided to return to London, in order to study with a renowned physician who was pioneering a hypnosis treatment for his patients. The sojourn in London was an excuse to escape Shepzoy, with its memories of Olivia’s blunt coldness and daily reminders of Gabriel’s blank, unseeing gaze, frozen in his memory. He was still damaged by all that had happened, but had refused to seek treatment for himself.

His aunt, upon learning he was in the capital, had insisted that he attend her soiree, undaintily telling him that a number of “young beauties” would be there “who will surely compete for your attention.” Nathan abhorred the idea of a beauty parade, and he certainly couldn’t regale society beauties with stories of his work that wouldn’t shock or appal them, so he attended merely out of a sense of duty to his aunt.

At the party, he had soon escaped to the large library on the third floor and had selected a volume of poetry to his liking, settling in a William Morris armchair to read. He hadn’t reached the third stanza when the door burst open and a young woman strode in, slightly unbalanced by the equipment she was carrying. She wore her long red hair in a plait with a diamante clasp at the base. Her dress was mid-blue chiffon that darkened to midnight blue on the flowing skirt. Nathan tried to compose himself, compose his thoughts or words, but found that he couldn’t.

The red-haired intruder saw him and appeared completely unperturbed. “Oh, hello!” she called. “Would you mind helping me set this up?”

He nodded wordlessly, but set to work under her supervision. The young woman pitched in, doing more than her share. Once the camera had been completely set up, she stood back and finally offered her hand in formal greeting: “I’m Charlotte. Charlotte Standon.”

“Nathan Appleby. Pleased to make your acquaintance,” replied Nathan, holding out his hand. He was still quite dumbstruck.

“Can I ask you to gather the throng, Nathan?”

“I’m sorry? I’m afraid I don’t…”

“The throng. The assembled masses. Or at least – assemble the masses,” laughed Charlotte. “To speak plainly: can you help me gather everyone for the portrait?”

Ah – the portrait. Nathan’s aunt had told him it was “quite the thing” to have done at soirees, gathering the guests to stand stock-still for an uncomfortable minute, whilst their black and white negative image was produced. His uncle hated it – called photography “a new-fangled science”, which made Nathan like it all the more. And this young woman, who had burst in on him quite unexpectedly, impressed him with her expertise and attitude, and much more.

The assembled masses gathered, Nathan lingered on the fringe of the group, not really knowing his place. Charlotte, who had disappeared under the black cloth that hung like a funereal drape on the camera, reappeared to chide him: “Mr Appleby?”

“Hmmm?”

“Can you please move towards the group? Otherwise I’m afraid you’ll be cut off entirely.”

Nathan moved inwards, an amused expression on his face. Standing completely motionless during the exposure time, he resolved to ask his aunt more about Charlotte Standon.

“Nathan?” Charlotte had appeared next to him, looking expectant. Nathan was brought back to the present time, in the bluebell woods. “You were in a trance. Are you ready for your portrait now? Stand on this stone,” Charlotte gave him her hand so he could clamber up. “That’s it. Now, turn so you’re in profile and assume an attitude of artistic contemplation.”

“Charlotte, really, I…”

“Just trust me! It will look like the oil painting of Ruskin next to the waterfall in Glenfinlas.”

“Except he was a renowned art critic, and looked distinguished. I, on the other hand, will just look silly.” But Nathan did as Charlotte asked anyway. That was her way – she compelled people, in the best possible manner, to take part in her endeavours. He could deny her nothing. After a minute, he murmured, trying not to move his lips: “Can I move now?”

“Just a little bit longer…”

Several more seconds passed of trying to hold the awkward pose. “Now?”

“I’m just enjoying the view,” smirked Charlotte. Realising her game, Nathan leapt off the rock and ran to her, enveloping her in his arms.

Returning to the house after lunch, Charlotte went to take a nap while Gwen took charge of Maddie. Nathan retired to his study. He hadn’t dared tell Charlotte, or indeed anyone, about the final visitation at Shepzoy the previous year, but in his private moments it was still sorely troubling him. It had been a small gathering of young men and women, wearing clothes that looked from another time, clearly holding a séance and giving him the name “notorious”. Then they accused him of killing his wife!

They mustn’t mean Charlotte – that could never be. Perhaps the message from the séance was oblique. If there was one thing the young woman with the book of light had taught him, it was that a supposedly malevolent ghost could transform into a guiding spirit. Perhaps the message from beyond the veil was to warn him against neglecting his wife – although goodness knows, he’d learnt enough from his failed marriage to Olivia, to realise that love, care and attention was needed to keep a relationship alive.

Feeling the need to reassure himself, Nathan went upstairs to their marital bedroom, and laid down next to his dear wife. He kissed her cheek, and said softly: “I never want to let you go. Let’s just live in the here and now. No thinking about the past, or the future.”

“Is that your solemn vow, Nathan Appleby?” murmured Charlotte, half-awake.

“It is.” He kissed her on the lips, and then held her in his arms for the longest time.

…………………………

**Bristol, April 2017**

Charlotte went into the office early that Monday morning. She had bought herself a town bike, and the spring breeze ruffled her hair as she cycled along the still-quiet roads. The grassy banks were alive with bright clumps of swaying flowers and the trees were bursting into bud. Everything she saw was renewing itself.

In contrast, although her professional life was thriving, her private life was vacant. Aside from a disastrous blind date the previous month, she hadn’t met anyone. Well, that wasn’t really true. She **had** met someone. Only that wasn’t going to happen.

She’d not heard from Nathan since his last session at the practice. She wasn’t that surprised, but felt slightly annoyed that he hadn’t bothered to write any feedback. After all, he’d promised to, and he seemed like a man of his word.

Arriving at the office and letting herself into the building, she saw a cream envelope on the mat. It had no postmark, and just bore the address ‘Dr Charlotte Standon’ in expressive, flowing script. Nothing was ever hand-delivered here. A strange sensation spread through her. It couldn’t be… not after a whole three months. Could it? She picked up the envelope and took it into the office.

Logging on to her computer, she took the envelope into the tiny kitchen with her and switched on the kettle to make herself the first of many herbal teas. Her hands shook slightly as she tore open the envelope.

Inside were a completed feedback form and a business card. She started to read the form, her cheeks feeling hotter with each phrase she scanned. “The best care”… “has transformed me” … “unreservedly recommend”. The feedback was formally worded, but superlative.

Picking up the business card, she saw that the business mobile number had been neatly crossed out, and another mobile number handwritten beneath, with the word “(personal)” appended to the number. Hoping beyond hope, she turned over the card. Written on the reverse, in the same flowing script, was a short message: “May I take you to lunch? If you don’t call me, I won’t presume. N”

She spent the morning with patients, in a state of secret giddiness. She needed the day to decide what to do, she told herself, although really she’d already made up her mind when she’d read that brief message.

Still, it took her until Wednesday evening to dial the number. She made sure she was in her flat, and standing up. Not normally reticent, she felt excessively nervous, but had read somewhere that standing up while talking on the phone gave the speaker an air of confidence.

The phone rang for what seemed like an eternity. Click – the standard network answerphone message played. Charlotte hesitated, unsure whether to leave a message. “Nathan? It’s Charlotte. Charlotte Standon. I got your letter. Lunch would be nice. Can you think of somewhere quiet where we can meet?” She then left her own personal mobile number, saying it twice to make sure it wasn’t misheard, and hung up.

She hoped that Nathan would see beyond her deliberately bland message, and get the meaning behind “quiet”. She really meant – ‘out of the way, where no-one we know will see us’. She was very aware, although Nathan wasn’t her patient any longer, of the potential impact on her professional reputation if they were seen together.

Nathan rang the next day, although whilst she was riding home from work in the early evening sunlight, so again they missed one another. She was ashamed to admit that she played back his message multiple times later that same evening.

“Charlotte, it’s Nathan. Nathan Appleby? I’m so pleased you can make lunch. Do you know a place called Shepzoy? It’s about 10 miles outside of Bristol. There’s a lovely little pub there. It’s a tiny village so there’s only one pub – you can’t miss it. Can you make lunch this Saturday? Don’t worry if not – I know how busy you are. I can pick you up or… actually, maybe it’ll be better if we just meet there? Really hope you can make it. ‘Bye.”

Charlotte decided to text him to say yes, and agree a time to meet. She couldn’t trust herself now to talk to him and not make a complete and utter fool of herself. Overcome with anticipation, she felt like Saturday couldn’t come soon enough.

In the event, they were both very nervous when they met at the village pub.

Nathan had arrived first and commandeered seats in the back dining room, out of sight from the locals at the bar. Upon seeing Charlotte, he leapt to his feet and came forward to kiss her lightly on the cheek in greeting, whilst Charlotte simultaneously went to kiss his same cheek, meaning they almost accidentally kissed each other full on the lips. When Nathan tried to sit back down, he bumped his head on the low-beamed ceiling.

All of this served as a much-needed icebreaker, as they collapsed with laughter on the benched seats.

“I’m sorry…” said Charlotte, recovering herself. “How’s your head?”

“Oh, I’ll live,” smiled Nathan. “I’m really glad you came.”

“Me too. How do you know about this place?”

“Shepzoy? My family’s originally from here. I’m actually restoring a place just up the road from here. It’s a bit of a work in progress at the moment. I’ll have to show it you sometime.”

‘Sometime’. Did that mean – next time? Or a vague possibility of sometime in the future? Or a polite way of avoiding saying ‘not at all’? Charlotte’s mind raced. They ordered their drinks and she found that the conversation flowed surprisingly easily, although she was mindful not to stare too much. He really was very handsome.

Nathan was normally at ease at most social occasions, but it had taken him weeks of deliberation and planning before he’d sent Charlotte that hand-delivered envelope. He too was masking his nervousness and excitement with inconsequential conversation.

Over two hours later, they finally left the pub, and walked down the lane to where Charlotte had left her car. Charlotte gulped down any remaining misgivings, then blurted: “I’d really like to see you again, Nathan. But we may have to meet in out of the way places, like here.” She glanced at him, sensing his understanding.

“Of course. I’d love to see you again. I’ll have a think. Another lunch, or…”

“Just lunch,” replied Charlotte, with more than an ounce of regret. She wanted to add “for now”, but didn’t quite dare.

…………………………

Two weeks later, Charlotte was sitting in her living room on the squishy sofa, her friend Gwen curled up next to her. Both of them had just drained their wine glasses and Charlotte now reached for the bottle and poured out the remainder for them both.

“So?” asked Gwen.

“So, what?”

“You know.” Gwen nudged her, almost spilling her wine. “What does he look like?”

“Ummm, tall, dark…”

“… and handsome?”

“Well, I think he is.”

Gwen pulled out her phone and started tapping at the screen. “’Nath-an App-ell-beee ark-ee-tect’” she spoke as she typed. “Oh yes! He really is handsome!”

“Gwen!”

“What – he won’t know I’m Googling him! Look,” Gwen turned her phone screen to Charlotte. “Is that him?”

The screen showed Nathan’s professional biography on the architecture practice website. A black and white profile picture of him gazed at her. “Yes, that’s him. Now, put your phone away!”

Charlotte hadn’t seen Gwen since last Christmas, when she’d made her promise to come and stay for a weekend. Her friend still lived in London, although Charlotte had tried to tempt her into coming to live in Bristol. She was a nurse at a paediatrics unit and her frivolous demeanour hid a clever, practical soul who would always go out of her way to help others.

Charlotte had confided to Gwen about her feelings for Nathan. She had met him for lunch three times now, always in places a safe distance away from Bristol, and each time it was getting harder for her to not say she really wanted to say: let’s just linger, we can spend the evening, or even just let’s spend the night. The atmosphere was heavy with their longing and anticipation.

“I don’t get it,” frowned Gwen, interrupting her thoughts. “You’re normally so assured. This issue you’ve got to overcome – that he’s an ex-patient – is it really that big a deal? I’ve heard of a lot of doctor-patient relationships happening. After all, he’s told you his innermost thoughts and fears. He’s had to trust you implicitly. That’s a foundation of any good relationship.”

“I guess not it’s not a huge deal. I mean, he’s no longer my patient. Maybe it’s just me being overly concerned. I’m just trying to think how it would look, if someone saw us together.”

“It would be none of their business,” declared Gwen. “Honestly? I’d be more bothered that he hadn’t got rid of all the ghosts from his past. Unless you’ve banished them all through your sessions?”

“That thought had crossed my mind too,” mused Charlotte. “I mean – he’s a widower. His wife and child died in a car accident. He won’t have left behind all of his demons.”

 “Ah well,” sighed Gwen, sipping her wine. “You can sleep on it. Or sleep with him.”

Charlotte giggled and went to the kitchen to open another bottle. “Red or white?”

“White? No, both! Wait… I really don’t care either way: just give me wine,” called Gwen from the living room.

The next morning, feeling majorly hung over, Charlotte forced a reluctant Gwen to come on a country walk with her, saying that the fresh air would help them clear their aching heads. She took her newly-acquired digital SLR camera, keen to capture some landscape shots.

The receptionist at work had told her that now was the best time to see the bluebells that carpeted the woods, so she now found herself encouraging the groaning Gwen through fields where the first shoots of crops were growing.

They made their way towards a copse of trees at the top of a low hill. Stopping to recover a little and glug some water, she took out her camera out of its padded bag and said to Gwen: “Let’s get a memento of today. Here’s a good spot.”

“Oh no,” demurred Gwen. “I look like death.”

“I’ll Photoshop it later. Everything looks better in black and white.”

Gwen shrugged whilst Charlotte set up the camera on the stone wall and set the timer for 10 seconds. She ran to Gwen’s side and hugged her, until the camera audibly clicked. “Another one for luck?” she suggested.

“Ugh. Please… no. Let’s just see these damn bluebells and then get a pub lunch somewhere.”

They reached the brow of the hill and entered the quiet woods. Even Gwen, in her hungover state, had to admit it was an amazing sight. Charlotte took a number of photos, aiming to capture the shafts of hazy light falling on the bluebells and take some close-up shots of the heady flowers.

Heading home later after dropping Gwen off at the train station, Charlotte felt much clearer about her and Nathan. She wanted to know more of him, and she didn’t want to hold back any longer. Entering her flat, she switched on her laptop so that she could wirelessly download her photos from the day. Dialling Nathan’s number, she breathed in deeply.

He sounded as pleased as ever to hear her voice. He had been to see family in London at the weekend, so they swapped stories about what they’d each been up to. Charlotte paused as one of her photos from the day came up on the screen. “Oh, it’s the photo I took of me and Gwen. You’ll have to meet her, she…” Charlotte trailed off.

“Charlotte? Are you still there? Are you OK?”

“Yes. Yes, I think so,” she replied. “You were definitely in London this weekend, right?”

“Yes – just got back. Why do you ask?”

“It’s just… well. This might sound strange, but your doppelganger was roaming the countryside near Shepzoy at the very same time.” She’d spotted a figure in the background of the picture, cresting the hill and turning to enter the woods. Even in partial profile, he looked very like the Nathan she knew.

Nathan laughed. “Really? A doppelganger? Well, so long as he isn’t claiming to be me. Although I’m sure there are a lot of tall men with dark hair in Bristol.”

“He looks exactly like you,” continued Charlotte, squinting at the picture. “Only… you know how you have a very particular sense of style?”

Nathan laughed again: “I love how tactfully you put that. Does my doppelganger have an even worse sense of style?”

“No, not that. Just… more old-fashioned.” Charlotte became aware of how strange she must be sounding. She deliberately closed her laptop, dismissing the fantastical, so she could concentrate on the here and now. “Anyway, enough of that nonsense. I wanted to ask you something.”

“Yes?” Nathan still sounded amused.

“What are you doing next weekend?”

“Nothing much. Why?”

“Do you want to go away for the weekend? With me?”

There was a pause, and for one terrible moment, Charlotte thought that she’d scared him away. “Yes. Very much so. I’m not even sure I can bear to wait a whole week.”

Charlotte deliberately decided to throw all remaining caution to the wind. “Well… we don’t have to wait a whole week. You can come over now if you like?”

“Are you sure my doppelganger isn’t there already?” laughed Nathan.

“No,” said Charlotte. “There’s no-one else but you.”


	3. Summer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The present-day Nathan reads the first verse of P. B. Shelley’s poem ‘Mutability’. Read the full poem and its meaning [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mutability_\(poem\))

**Shepzoy House, July 2017**

After they’d had lunch on the lawn, Charlotte sat on their picnic blanket on the mown grass, admiring the view. The shimmer of summer sun created a heat haze, while beyond the lake the nodding cornflowers had grown wild in the long grass. 

This was the first time she had been brought to visit Shepzoy House, and she was impressed – by the house and its environs, and by the amount of work Nathan was so clearly putting into restoring the place.

Earlier in the day, an excited Nathan had led her in the front door, pointing out the features as he went: “This was the kitchen-scullery and the pantry originally. There’s so much light in here, it was a shame to waste it, so I’ve made it into one room that’ll be the kitchen-diner, and restored the range.”

They walked across the hallway into another room which had dark beams on the ceiling. The walls had been painted light cream and with a muted bronze on the dado rails, capturing and reflecting the light. “This was the parlour… so basically the living room. And there’s still a study off here.”

He continued to lead her through, showing where he’d retained original features and what was new or updated. As they walked into the study, a model sailing ship on the windowsill caught Charlotte’s eye and she picked it up: “Oh, look at this! Did you buy it?”

Nathan shook his head. “It’s got an interesting story. I asked the site manager to have the lake dredged a couple of months ago. They found all sorts, mainly rubbish. But this was in amongst the flotsam and jetsam. They were going to throw it away, but I thought with a new coat of lacquer and a new sail, it would look good.”

Charlotte turned the ship in her hands, admiring Nathan’s handiwork. “Nathan Appleby, is there no end to your talents?”

Nathan smiled. He wasn’t great at accepting praise, but this was so clearly his passion. “I can’t show you the upstairs yet. The staircase was rotten in places, but I’m getting that fixed next. I can’t wait to show you the rest once that’s done.”

Charlotte knew about Nathan’s project – he’d even disappeared off a number of times since they’d started seeing one another, to go and supervise the restoration. She knew that this house was a big deal to him, and bringing her here was something significant.

In the three months since their first night together, they’d got to know one another little by little. At times, Charlotte felt like Nathan was metaphorically absent: he would glance away and fall into sudden silences, and she knew what he was thinking about. When they met, it was either in out of the way places, or at Charlotte’s flat. He never invited her to his current home, which she knew he had shared with his wife and child. In a way, she was glad he hadn’t, so she didn’t have to decline – she didn’t want to tread amongst the departed. Nathan didn’t talk about them at all: he said to Charlotte that their relationship wasn’t about “more therapy sessions.” Although she appreciated his reticence, she was conscious that a deep scar was still there.

Charlotte also wondered if Nathan had come into their relationship too soon. He hadn’t yet said ‘I love you’, although she was impatient to hear those words. Although she was confident on the surface, the experience of her previous relationship – a disaster zone in all respects – meant she wanted someone who would give her unconditional love. With Nathan, there was no such thing.

Charlotte was brought back from her reverie by the distant buzzing sound of a jet engine that was streaming its contrail across the sky.

“Penny for them?” murmured Nathan, looking at her quizzically. She turned to face him on the blanket. He’d been lying with his hat perched on his face, dozing in the sun, but was now watching her sideways from beneath the brim.

“Sorry – what?”

Nathan lifted his hat and put it to one side: “Penny for your thoughts.”

“I was just thinking what an amazing job you’ve done on the restoration,” she lied.

Nathan sat up and twisted round to look back at the house façade.

“I hoped you’d like it. It means a lot to me that you do,” he replied, pleased at the compliment. “Oh, I forgot! I found something else in the house and thought you might like it. Sorry it’s not something bigger…” He rummaged in his satchel and handed her a small package wrapped in brown kraft paper.

Charlotte unwrapped it carefully. Inside the parcel was a book of poetry, clearly antique. “Nathan, how thoughtful. Thank you so much.” She leant over to kiss him, and he beamed.

As she flicked through to the frontispiece, Nathan added: “I know how much you love Shelley.”

“The original rebel,” she grinned, but then her expression turned serious as she read the title page. “This was published in 1894 and it’s in pristine condition. Nathan, it’s too much… I really can’t accept this…”

“Yes, you can. You’ve brought me back to life. When I think of how I felt even a year ago… I don’t think any present I can give you will ever repay that debt of gratitude,” replied Nathan gravely.

“You don’t owe me any kind of debt. I’m just happy to see you happy,” she replied sincerely. “And no more talk about the past. Let’s just live in the here and now.” To divert Nathan from any more dark thoughts, she asked him: “Can you read me a poem?”

“Of course. Do you want to pick your favourite one?”

Charlotte ran a finger down the contents listing. “Oh, I love this one. Page 53.”

“Do you want me to adopt a scholarly tone when I recite it?” he teased, taking the open book she handed to him.

“Nathan, the way you talk… sometimes I swear you’re from another age entirely. Just in your normal voice will be fine,” she laughed.

Nathan shrugged and glanced down at the page she’d selected, reading the poem’s title out loud. “‘Mutability’,” he said reflectively. “A good subject for a poem. Do you want me to read the whole thing, or just a verse?”

“Whatever you like.”

“OK. Although I’m much better at putting pencil to paper than I am at poetry recitals, so bear with me.” He cleared his throat and read out the first stanza in his resonant bass voice:

 _“We are as clouds that veil the midnight moon;_  
_How restlessly they speed and gleam and quiver,_  
_Streaking the darkness radiantly! Yet soon_  
_night closes round, and they are lost forever.”_

Nathan stopped to consider the meaning: “So, what it’s basically saying is that our lives are transient?”

Charlotte nodded: “That – and changeable. He’s saying if there’s anything we can rely on in life, it’s that things change.”

Nathan paused, then said: “I’m not sure I totally agree. Some things have to stay the same. You need a constant, otherwise you’d go mad.” He put the book down on the grass, where it lay discarded.

Charlotte, like a kind of emotional weathervane, immediately moved with the directional swing in his mood. Thinking things had got unnecessarily dark, she decided to inject some fun into the proceedings. “You said you’d got the lake dredged. Is it safe to swim?”

“It should be – why?” replied Nathan, squinting down at the lake.

“Because I could do with cooling off,” she said simply.

Nathan turned to her, realising her intent. A slow smile started to spread across his face. “You’re not thinking...?”

“I am.”

“But what if anyone sees us?”

“Who?!” laughed Charlotte. “I’ve never been anywhere so tranquil and unoccupied. Come on – I dare you.”

Standing up, she started to strip off her clothes, and Nathan quickly did the same, until they were competing to see who would be first to be completely naked and jump in the lake. Running down to the lakeside, they entered the water simultaneously, shrieking at the sudden cold.

“It’s glorious!” shouted Charlotte when she resurfaced, her auburn hair spreading out around her.

“I feel so alive!” shouted Nathan in return, and swam over to catch her in his embrace, circling her with his arms. “I love you, Charlotte.”

**…………………………**

**Shepzoy, July 1895**

Summer was an exceptionally busy time on the farm. The annual hay making and ploughing the fields was strenuous work, even with Charlotte’s introduction of machinery to help them plough. Gideon was an ally, but at times the labourers were bordering on mutinous. Charlotte felt like she was sinking into a quagmire of work and family commitments.

Nathan had told her to slow down – but Charlotte was stubborn, and wanted to show that she could do it all. So she continued to manage the farm, and the household, and care for Maddie, even though it was breaking her physically.

…………………………

The Reverend Denning sat in the conservatory of the vicarage, waiting for his guest. A fat bee lazily walked up the glass opposite him, then flew woozily and settled on an ornamental rose bush. The late morning sun was too bright, so he’d chosen a spot in the shade of a potted palm.

The Reverend was a man given to reflection. While he waited, he thought of all the reasons why Nathan Appleby might be coming to see him.

Certainly, after the events of the previous year, the Applebys had been notably absent from village life. The villagers still talked of restless spirits at Shepzoy House, and some of them refused to set foot on its soil – although the Reverend preached against such malicious gossip and superstition in his Sunday sermons. The extra farmhands drafted in for the haymaking had come from neighbouring villages and were paid a handsome wage for their troubles.

Nathan was ushered in by the Reverend’s daughter, who gazed at their guest with something approaching awe. The poor girl had fallen under his spell, although the Reverend felt sure that Nathan had done nothing to encourage her admiration. He had always been remarked upon by all about as handsome, so hers was no more than an indulgent infatuation.

“Nathan!” he rose to greet his guest, motioning for Nathan to sit in the wicker chair alongside him. “I took the liberty of asking Annie for a jug of iced tea. Would you like some?”

Nathan shook the Reverend’s proffered hand warmly, then sat down gladly in the chair. “Wonderful. I couldn’t think of anything better – it’s far too warm outside.”

“We’ve got some shade here,” continued the vicar, pouring out their iced tea, the pitcher clinking as the ice melted slowly. “Now, I have the pleasure of your company after many months. I think that Madeleine may be the cause of your prolonged absence?”

Nathan smiled wryly. “Madeleine. Charlotte. My work. My sketching. They all take up my time, in the best way possible.”

“It’s good to see you so engaged in life. How are your family?”

“Charlotte is… well, she’s determined. She uses all her energy on Maddie, and me, and helping Gideon with the farm. I tell her she’s doing too much, but she will always be her own keeper.”

“Still, she is your wife,” counselled the vicar. “And wives should bow to their husband’s wishes.”

“Charlotte will bow to no-one. It’s one of the many reasons why I love her,” replied Nathan, looking slightly irritated. “But Maddie – she is our guiding light. She is quite a character now. Red hair like her mother’s.”

“And her mother’s temperament? Or yours?”

“I’m not sure as yet. I hope it’s more Charlotte’s than mine. She’s far less prone to dangerous introspection.” He paused, looking as if he wanted to say something more, but not daring to.

“We’ve missed you all at church,” said the vicar, more to fill in the gap than to make a point. Other than Madeleine’s christening, the Applebys were rarely at the Sunday service. This was also remarked on by the villagers, who were god-fearing and conversely quick to judge, in equal measure.

Nathan shifted slightly in his seat, looking uncomfortable. “We will make more of an effort to attend. In all honesty, I’m afraid this isn’t a mere social call. I’ve come to you today on a spiritual matter.”

“Hmmm?” said the vicar, raising one eyebrow. He hadn’t guessed at this topic.

“Yes.” Nathan looked as if he was still biting back his words.

The Reverend saw the difficulty Nathan was having in unburdening himself: “Nathan, I’ve known you since you were a baby. Whatever you say to me, is kept between me, you and God.”

“Do you believe in premonitions?” asked Nathan tremulously.

“A premonition – of what? Of death?”

“A warning. Of a tragedy that will happen.”

“I’m afraid you are talking in riddles, Nathan. You will have to make your meaning clearer.”

Nathan gave a ragged outtake of breath, then his words tumbled out: “I saw – I saw a vision. It was a séance, happening in the parlour of my own house. The people there called me ‘notorious’ – they said that I killed my wife.”

“Well, that’s ridiculous Nathan. Your wife is very much alive and well, not a mile from us as we sit here.”

“I think they mean that I **will** kill her. In the future. Although I took it as a softer warning – against marital neglect.”

“If this neglect were true, this would be observable in your’s and Charlotte’s interactions. Yet you have been nothing but a strong, loving partnership. Perhaps it is your own idealism? Our romantic expectations do not always match the sometimes humdrum reality of marriage,” mused the vicar.

“I love Charlotte, there is no doubt of that. But this vision tugs at the back of my mind and will not let me rest.”

The vicar steepled his fingers and rested his chin. “I wonder if this ‘vision’ – and it may be the workings of your mind – is deeper rooted. It may stem from your earlier losses, Nathan.” He paused, knowing that Nathan would know exactly what he was referring to, yet deliberately not saying the names Olivia and Gabriel because he could not bear to wound the young man.

“Do you mean that I was somehow ‘responsible’ for Olivia’s death – that is the ‘wife’ they referred to?” asked Nathan, by now perched on the edge of his chair.

“Of course not. Olivia was very troubled, even when you first brought her here. You tried to make the best of your marriage.” He recalled that the villagers had gossiped about Olivia too – she wasn’t missed, except as a much needed mother to Gabriel, that poor boy. “You have suffered much; far too much. The loss has been unbearable, and this has worked on your mind. It’s much harder to be the one who is left behind to grieve. Death is a sweet release into eternal glory. But life has given you a second chance Nathan. God has sent you Charlotte and Madeleine.”

Nathan nodded in agreement: “I believe that Charlotte saved me. And Maddie is my continual salvation.”

“Exactly,” replied the vicar. “Look to your family in the here and now. They will save you. No more of visions and what they might mean.”

Nathan clutched his hat and rose to his feet, looking happier than he had when he entered. “Thank you. Thank you. I promise you will see us at church this coming Sunday.”

“I’m glad to have offered some comfort,” said the Reverend, taking Nathan’s outstretched hand in both his own. “I really wish you the best. Charlotte and Madeleine are worth living for. Now, no more thoughts of this supposed premonition.”

“I promise,” Nathan assured him, exiting with a straighter back and a lighter gait.

After Nathan had left, the Reverend returned to his chair and sipped the remainder of his tea. He wondered when ‘Madeleine’ had become ‘Maddie’: a most modern shortening. And the headstrong Charlotte, commandeering the farm. Nathan was a blessed man to have such a family.

…………………………

At the time of Nathan’s arrival at the vicarage, Charlotte woke from her and Maddie’s shared nap. She felt as if she had not slept at all. Her daughter was crying, so she called out plaintively for Nathan to come and help. Instead, it was Gwen who appeared at the bedroom door.

“Where is my husband?” asked Charlotte, pushing away a curling strand of hair that had fallen across her face.

“He’s gone to the vicarage miss. To see the Reverend,” Gwen curtseyed.

“Well, did he say what time he would return? And Gwen, please don’t curtsey, you know I’ve told you that many times…” Maddie’s cry intensified and Charlotte distractedly went over to the cot, lifting the baby so that she could start to feed.

“Mam?” interjected Gwen, who was still hovering in the doorway.

“What is it?” Charlotte knew she was being abrupt with Gwen, and she hated herself for it. But she was so very tired, and on a short fuse.

“Mam… I mean, miss? If you put the baby down to sleep in the nursery miss, instead of in your bedroom, that may help you sleep. I’ll bring her in to you if she needs a feed, but if she just needs settling, I can…”

“Did I ask for your advice?” snapped Charlotte.

“No, mam,” replied Gwen, trying not to show she was hurt. Bowing her head slightly, she retreated and left Charlotte to feed Maddie.

As the baby fed contentedly, Charlotte looked down at her daughter, and a feeling of utter peace flooded through her. Despite her exhaustion, when her baby clutched at her hair and took fierce hold, Charlotte felt awake again. Once Maddie was satiated, she took the baby with her to search out Gwen, so that she could apologise to her for her rude behaviour.

Gwen, in turn, had been thinking of ways to try and make her mistress relax. At that same moment, she was on the lawn, where she had thoughtfully laid out a blanket for Charlotte and Maddie on the incline looking towards the lake, with a picnic lunch for Charlotte. Anything to make her sit and not do anything for a while.

“Gwen!” called Charlotte, coming out of the house. As she approached, she spotted the thoughtful gesture. “Oh, Gwen. Thank you. I realise I’ve been rude. I shouldn’t take out my tiredness on everyone.”

“Miss, you need to sit. Look – it’s a lovely day, and a beautiful view.”

“Indeed it is,” replied Charlotte, breathing in deeply. The air had a heady scent of the honeysuckle that clung to the house façade. From where they stood, she could just about see the bluebell woods on the hilltop, where she had walked with her family earlier in the year. Only the lake lay blackly on the landscape. She shuddered at the unwanted memories it dragged up.

“Are you cold miss?” enquired Gwen. “Maybe you’ve caught a chill.”

“No, no. I’m fine.” Charlotte reassured her. “I think sitting here for a small while will do me good. Can you ask Gideon to come and find me when he arrives?”

“Of course miss,” said Gwen, thinking that she would tell Gideon no such thing. “Here – let me take baby for a while. I’ll walk around the lake with her and show her the wildflowers.”

Charlotte handed Maddie to her, alternating between reluctance and gratitude. Once Gwen had walked off with the baby, showing her the sights around the garden, Charlotte collapsed gratefully onto the blanket and soon fell asleep in the warming cocoon of the sun.

She woke to find Gwen’s shadow blocking out the sun’s light. Gwen was shaking her shoulder very gently. “Sorry miss, I left you as long as I could, but you were catching the sun. You were in much need of sleep.”

Charlotte rolled onto her side, feeling groggy from the midday nap. Maddie was playing happily with her rattle on the blanket beside her, throwing it down then trying to pick it up again immediately.

“Thank you Gwen. Could you bring me some water?” The roof of her mouth was dry and her eyes itched. She could hear insects buzzing in the nearby flowerbed and it made her brain ache.

“Yes miss,” nodded Gwen, and hurried back into the house.

Looking towards her daughter again, Charlotte saw that, instead of her rattle, Maddie had a book in both her hands and was trying to lift it. “Maddie – no!” Charlotte took the book away so swiftly that the baby promptly burst into tears. “Here – here,” she said softly, handing Maddie’s rattle to her instead. Maddie immediately stopped crying, and recommenced her game of pick up-drop-pick up-drop.

Charlotte looked at the book cover – a collected edition of Shelley’s poetry. This was a gift from Nathan before they were married; she had asked him to read her the poems many times.

Looking up, she saw that Gwen was walking across the lawn with the water she’d asked for. When she arrived, Charlotte brandished the book like it was a suffragist pamphlet: “Gwen, how did **this** come to be in the garden?”

“Miss?” Gwen said, looking concerned. Her mistress was becoming more and more anxious. Gwen peered at the cover, pretending to read the title.

“Well?” said Charlotte accusingly.

“I’m afraid I can’t read well, miss,” admitted Gwen ruefully. “I wouldn’t know what that book was, even if you said it was my very own copy of the Bible.”

Charlotte sighed, and put the book down. “I’m very sorry Gwen. I seem to be a bit overwhelmed these days. Here – help me up. I’ll put this back where it belongs.” Charlotte took Gwen’s outstretched hand and got to her feet. She gulped down the water gladly, then carrying Maddie and the book in her arms, she went back into the house.

Gwen gathered up the blanket, then returned to the kitchen and took down her locked box of herbs. She would prepare a sleeping draught for Charlotte, and offer this to her tonight. This would help her mistress to sleep more peacefully. Gwen wished Mr Appleby was less of a modern man, and insisted that his wife have care for their child alone, and not strain herself with any more unnecessary tasks.

…………………………

**Shepzoy House, July 2017**

Charlotte and Nathan collapsed onto the picnic blanket, still wet from the lake.

“The sun will dry us off soon,” promised Nathan. He started to kiss her, starting with the tip of her nose, then the indent above her collar bone, then he traced a line of kisses around her hip bones. He carried on, all the way round her body, until he’d reached her mouth and they kissed again, for a long time.

After a while, Nathan stroked her shoulder. “I’m afraid, my fair beauty, that you may be burning up in this sun.”

“Arggh! Curse my lily-white ancestors,” laughed Charlotte. She touched the same spot on her shoulder. “Actually – ouch, you’re right. Maybe we should get dressed.”

“Shame though,” said Nathan. “I was hoping to have you naked like this for the rest of the day. I know – the study has a sofa already. We can…?”

“Come on.” Standing up, Charlotte took him by the hand and they half walked, half ran into the house.

They hadn’t yet noticed, but the book Nathan had gifted Charlotte had gone.


	4. Autumn

**Shepzoy House, October 1895**

Reverend Denning stood on the doorstep of Shepzoy House, holding his hat in both hands in front of him.

The walk from the vicarage to the house had been a pleasant one – it was unseasonably warm and the bright leaves were only just beginning to turn. As he’d traversed along the lane, the farm fields about were a dark, reddish brown, the earlier ploughing having churned up the earth that had lain beneath. Gideon and the farm workers were busy cultivating the winter wheat – the vicar could see them dotted about the fields. The whole panorama was like a Turner landscape, only steeped in autumnal colours.

Nathan had been called away to London, at the urgent request of a former colleague, to assist with a particularly difficult medical case. Unable to persuade Charlotte to go with him, he’d asked the Reverend to look in on her, “to provide some much-needed company.”

The vicar rang the pulley bell and waited expectantly. Gwen let him in, curtseying and smiling.

“Dear Gwen. How are you?” he greeted her warmly.

“Fair to middling sir,” she replied, taking his hat and overcoat. “Mrs Appleby is awaiting you in the parlour. Would you like some tea served?”

“Yes Gwen, that would be good. Is Madeleine there too?”

“No sir. She’s napping upstairs,” said Gwen, before retreating into the kitchen.

He walked into the parlour to find Charlotte asleep in a wing-backed armchair, her head lolling. Loath to disturb her, he walked through to the kitchen, where Gwen was busy brewing the tea.

“Reverend!” she looked up, surprised to see him.

“Mrs Appleby is asleep, so I thought it was best to wait…” He spread out his hands in supplication by way of an apology.

“Oh,” said Gwen, quickly coming round from the other side of the substantial oak table to pull out a chair for him. “Please, make yourself at home here.”

“Is she often like this?” asked the vicar.

“Sir?” replied Gwen, with false nonchalance.

“Mrs Appleby. She sleeps fitfully, I hear.” Nathan had told him that Charlotte was having trouble sleeping. Conversely, Maddie was thriving. She was now sleeping through the night and was fully weaned, which meant in theory that Charlotte could get more rest.

“At times, sir,”agreed Gwen. “I’ve been preparing her a herbal draught nightly to aid sleep. Valerian root, mixed with wild honey. But sometimes she wakes. She has nightmares.”

“What of?” enquired the Reverend.

“Oh sir, I shouldn’t…” Gwen looked down at the kitchen table and rested her fingertips on the wooden surface, unwilling to be disloyal to her mistress.

“Gwen – I am not a villager liable to gossip at the tavern. Whatever you tell me will be held in confidence,” he reassured her.

Gwen paused, as if she was thinking of exactly what to say, or whether to say anything at all. Eventually, her confession tumbled out. “She has the same dream: and frequently. She dreams that her husband and child have abandoned her; that she is searching and cannot find them. She wakes up quite frantic and wanders the hallway. We guide her back to bed and soothe her.”

Gwen looked down again, ashamed of herself for having told someone. But she’d needed to unburden herself; goodness knows her loyalty to the Applebys had been stretched thin in the last few months.

The Reverend took the cup of tea she offered him, sipped it thoughtfully, and then sat back, folding his arms across his chest contemplatively. This was worse than the report that Nathan had given him – no wonder he’d elicited a promise from him to call on Charlotte regularly during Nathan’s absence.

“Mrs Appleby has endured much with the events of last year. She has an additional, albeit blessed, burden as a mother of a young child. I’m sure her malaise is the result of the mental and physical strain she has been put under,” he mused. “We should pray for her recovery.”

“Yes sir,” said Gwen in reply, thinking privately that Charlotte needed more than prayer – she needed complete rest, and an escape from solitude.

The baby’s plaintive cry interrupted their conversation. Gwen looked up to where the noise was coming from. “I should attend to Maddie, sir.”

“Of course Gwen, of course.” He drained his tea, then followed Gwen into the hallway. “Please tell Mrs Appleby when she wakes that I will visit tomorrow. I hope she will be more rested then.”

A telltale crease appeared on Gwen’s forehead, but she decided to say nothing more on the subject of Charlotte’s health. She helped the Reverend into his coat distractedly as the baby’s cry grew louder. “Are you alright to see yourself out, sir?”

The Reverend nodded, picked up his hat and exited the house into the daylight. He resolved to have a stern talk with Nathan on his return, concerning the care and attention due to his wife.

As his feet crunched across the crisp gravel of the driveway, the air suddenly filled with sounds of whirring and hammering, until there was an infernal racket round about him. The vicar crouched low, as if he was being attacked by an invisible flock of birds. Then, as suddenly as the sounds had started, they stopped.

The Reverend slowly regained his former composure, although a tremor in his hands gave him away. He stumbled down the driveway, not caring to look back. Although a man of God, he had seen enough in the previous year to make him wonder about the existence of the supernatural. Once safely away from the house, only then did he look back, praying to God to deliver the occupants from all evil.

…………………………

Later that day, Charlotte stared out of the nursery window upstairs, looking down onto the lawn and the lake. She held Maddie in her arms, cherishing her daughter’s warmth and solid weight. Nowadays, when she was feeling low, Maddie brought her back to reality, reminding her that life was worth living.

The past few months had been a strain. Aside from the recurring nightmares, she would hear inexplicable sounds at times, like the house had come alive and was repairing itself. Hammering, whirring, sawing. Just snatches, but she heard them clearly. Recently, she thought she had heard a woman’s laughter echoing in the same bedroom that she and Nathan shared.

It wasn’t just sounds. Random objects had appeared and disappeared. First, it had been the book of poetry. Then, she had found a hammer lying on the main staircase, and had narrowly avoided tripping and falling. Finally, and most significantly, she had found a toy boat, its lacquer relatively fresh, perched on the study windowsill. When she brought Nathan in to question him about it, the boat had gone.

She hadn’t told Nathan about much else; other than the dreams, which she couldn’t hide, and of finding the boat. In part, it was because she didn’t want to revisit the terrible time they had endured the previous year. She also still suspected that she was the cause of the ill luck at Shepzoy. If that were true, then ill luck was gathering about her again.

Nathan was understandably concerned – overly so, in her view – for her wellbeing. Not for the first time, she saw how effective a physician he was.

“You must give up managing the farm and the house. They have grown too much for you. Maddie takes up so much time and energy,” he’d advised her.

“But… those are some of the things I most enjoy about being at Shepzoy,” she’d protested. “They give me my liberty.”

“Charlotte, as your husband, and as a doctor, I urge you to consider it. If you don’t: your health will suffer, and your relationships with those around you will suffer in turn. If not for me, do it for Maddie.”

“Are you **forcing** me to give it up?” shrilled Charlotte, feeling absurdly emotional.

Nathan had come to her then, and stroked her arms which she’d held stiffly by her side. Eventually, she inclined her head, resting it against his chest. She felt defeated, and Nathan sensed her abjection. “Charlotte, I would never demand that you do, or don’t do, anything. But Gwen and Gideon are equally capable. This course of action would mean that you gain more free time. Time to rest; time to spend with your family.”

Nathan’s words softened her. Perhaps she wasn’t giving up part of herself, or giving up her freedom, she was regaining it. So long as it was her choice to make, and no-one else’s.

Yet now, standing by the window, why did she feel so unutterably sad? She looked out at the expanse of the lake, its still waters holding a glimmering reflection of the sky above, and held on to Maddie thankfully.

**Shepzoy House, October 2017**

Charlotte was happier and more content than she’d been in a long time. She looked up at the cerulean blue of the sky, as clear and untroubled as her mind. She and Nathan had been bolder about their relationship, so much so that she was sure the receptionist had seen him drop Charlotte off at work one morning, yet Charlotte didn’t really care about the outcome or the likely gossip.

Now that her relationship with Nathan was no longer secretive, they didn’t need to hide and felt far more carefree. “Carpe effing diem, Charlotte,” advised Gwen. “This one’s a keeper.”

Charlotte had come with Nathan to visit Shepzoy House a number of times since her first visit. With each visit, she’d grown more enamoured of the place, and of him. Nathan’s passion for his work was so clearly evident in this project, as well as his thoughtful consideration of each and every detail.

The staircase had been rebuilt, and Nathan, ever the perfectionist, was finally ready to tour her round the upstairs. Alighting from her car, she waved to Gideon, the site manager, who was hammering away in the temporary workshop beside the main driveway. Nathan was waiting for her on the doorstep, and she ran to hug him. He picked her up and swung her round until she was breathless and laughing.

“You romantic madman!” she exclaimed, when he finally put her down.

“Romantic, I hope. But very much **not** mad. I’m just excited to show you the rest of the house,” Nathan grinned.

“And **I’m** excited to see it,” she replied, following him inside.

Tripping up the stairs, she admired the light polished oak, so at odds with the dark, sagging wood she’d glimpsed on her first visit. As they worked their way around the upstairs rooms, Nathan proudly pointed out all the details, eagerly taking Charlotte by the hand as they entered the largest, lightest room. “Well… what do you think?”

“I love the high ceilings!” she said admiringly. “And the coving – it’s so intricate.”

“It’s one of the original features,” replied Nathan, happily in his element. “The plaster was crumbling in places. I replicated the design and had a plaster mould done, so that we could recreate any sections that needed replacing. If you look there – ” he pointed up to one part of the plasterwork, “you can try and spot the join.”

Charlotte peered carefully, but could only spot a thin, faint line that gave any indication of the join. “A little. But it hardly shows.”

“That’s deliberate. Sometimes you want to shout about what’s old and what’s new. But most of the time, it should be a subtle blend of the past and the present.”

“And the future?” asked Charlotte playfully, even though she like it when he was being earnest about his work.

“Ah… the future,” said Nathan reflectively, turning to look at her. “Well, I’ve got an important decision to make.”

“Really?” asked Charlotte, trying not to show how intrigued she was.

“Yes. I need to buy a bed for this room – it’s going to be the master bedroom. Will you help me choose it?” A smile played across his lips.

“Well,” she said, taking his hands and placing them round her waist, so they were as close as possible. “I’ll have to check if I have space in my calendar. I’m a very busy professional woman.”

“I know. It’s one of the many things I love and admire about you. But, seeing as I’d like you to share the bed with me, it would be remiss of me not to get your opinion.”

Charlotte kissed him as a reply, then looked about the room. “It’s a shame there’s not a bed here right now,” she teased.

“Do we need one?”

She pretended to look shocked. “Why, you are such a gentleman on the surface, but beneath…”

Nathan stopped her next words by kissing her. They didn’t need to talk after that.

…………………………

Later that day, they decided to walk up the rise near the house, which afforded them a panoramic view of the building, viewed from a distance.

“Have you had more chance to look into the history of the place?” she asked Nathan. He’d told her it had been occupied for a time by his great-great-grandfather and his family. The family connection was what had attracted Nathan to the house in the first place.

“Yes, a little. They left the place in 1895 though – I haven’t been able to find out why.” In previously telling Charlotte the history of the place, Nathan had deliberately left out one detail, of the boy who had drowned in the lake. Not because he didn’t want to frighten Charlotte – she was far stronger than that – but because he knew her professional self would switch on and see some Freudian parallels with his own, ever-present loss. “There were rumours of a haunting, which seemed to scare people off. The house wasn’t occupied again until the 1920s.”

“Ghosts and ghouls?” laughed Charlotte. “All old houses have those stories as part of the bricks and mortar. When I actually see a wandering spirit, I’ll believe it.”

“But you already have,” Nathan reminded her jokingly. “My doppelganger, remember? Up there on the hill.”

“Oh yes! Logic won out on that one. He was just another walker with a bit of a weird dress sense.” Charlotte meant every word of her explanation – she was far too rational to believe in the supernatural. “What about you – do you believe that places can be haunted?”

“I’m not sure,” said Nathan, surprisingly serious. “Sometimes I think that Gabriel’s somewhere nearby. Not as a ghost, more a benevolent presence. But that may be my mind trying to give me some comfort.”

“If you can feel he’s there, watching over you, that shows you’re healing,” replied Charlotte. She squeezed his hand tightly, and together they walked further up the hill, keeping by the field’s edge. The dark, reddish brown earth had been churned up by the recent ploughing, revealing what lay beneath.

**Shepzoy House, November 2017**

Charlotte lay back on the bed and smiled. “I concede to your better judgement,” she said. “This is perfect.”

“It looks good now it’s _in situ_ ,” replied Nathan, lying down next to her, thankfully without any hint of ‘I told you so’ in his voice. He’d suggested a four-poster bed, as more in keeping with the style of the house. Charlotte had favoured something more modern. It was the closest to an argument they’d had so far, and over something relatively inconsequential at that.

The bed was the first of the room furnishings to be moved in. Now that the finishing touches to the house were happening, Charlotte could see it truly transforming. “This will be a wonderful home, Nathan. You’ve done such an amazing job with the restoration.”

“Not without your help. And not just in choosing the bed! This was part of my therapy – do you remember?” Nathan shifted so that he could accommodate her in the crook of his arm, and she moved over to nestle against him, studying his expression.

“And did my prescribed therapy work?”

“It did. It truly did. You know that I wanted to go with them, Charlotte. I felt like they’d left me behind: that to carry on living was cheating. I was in the blackest place imaginable. But when I met you – you were so full of life. You brought me back to life.” He blinked back the tears.

Charlotte hugged him as tightly as she could. “ **You** did it Nathan. You were the author of your own recovery. I may have guided and supported you, but it was your thoughts and actions that allowed you to rebuild your life.”

Nathan wiped his face and gave a shuddering sigh. “I don’t know why I feel so emotional, when I finally feel free of the past.”

“It’s because you didn’t bury what happened. You’ve dealt with an extremely difficult period. What you’re feeling now is cathartic.”

They held each other close for a long time, moving only slightly. Eventually, Nathan half-sat up and turned to her. “Charlotte? I want to ask you something.” There it was: his serious face again.

“Ask away,” smiled Charlotte, propping herself up on one arm.

“Would you like to move in here, with me? The house will be ready next month – it could be our first Christmas together…”

“Celebrating Christmas in our own home?” Charlotte didn’t need to think. “Of course, yes!”

“You won’t find it boring out here, compared to the city?”

“Are you kidding me?” she said incredulously. “My flat is **stifling**. Here, we have so much more space. We can do whatever we like.”

“And what would you like to do?”

“Right now?”

“Right now.”

“Hmmm, let me think.”Charlotte shifted to sit alongside him, feeling the warmth of their joint body heat. She stroked his cheek and, turning his face to hers, she kissed him longingly. “I can think of many ways to celebrate. But right now? I think we should christen the bed.”

Afterwards, when Charlotte lay drowsy and naked, her red hair streaming out on the pillow, Nathan gazed at her and thought that he’d never been more alive than at this moment.

**Shepzoy House, November 1895**

Charlotte was having trouble falling asleep. No matter what position she tried, she felt disturbed. She was painfully tired, but her mind was far too active to let her body truly rest.

She got up and wandered over to the window, looking out at the dull afternoon. Gwen had taken Maddie for a walk in her perambulator, and she tried to spot them on the landscape. There were a few leaves clinging on to life in the tree branches, but the others had cascaded to earth, where they now lay, dry and slowly disintegrating.

Charlotte couldn’t stand the sight. She needed to sleep; her eyelids were fluttering closed even as she stood there. She turned back towards the bed.

Nathan heard the sound from his study. It was like the high-pitched wail of an animal in pain. He immediately ran upstairs to the bedroom, to find Charlotte standing near the window, pointing in abject terror at the bed.

“What is it?” he asked, rushing over and holding her trembling body. “Are you hurt?”

“Can’t you see her?” she stared at the bed fixedly, looking terrified.

“Charlotte, darling, there’s nothing there,” confirmed Nathan, and he walked over to the bed and ran his hands over the counterpane to prove it. Turning, he strode back to Charlotte and took her in his arms again. “See, it’s nothing.”

Charlotte shuddered a sigh of immense relief. “She’s gone.”

“What is it – what did you see?”

“I saw…” Charlotte hesitated, as if confessing it would make Nathan think she was a lunatic. “I saw a woman. She was lying on our bed, in the same spot I’d lain only a minute before. She looked so much like me Nathan! It was me! IT WAS ME!”

“Charlotte, please calm down,” said Nathan quietly, to try and pacify her rising hysteria. He held her close and stroked her hair. “You’re extremely tired. It’s your mind playing a fantastical trick, I’m sure of it. We need to get away from this place; go back to London perhaps…”

“No, no…” moaned Charlotte. “It won’t make any difference. The same will happen there. It’s not the place: it’s me. It’s always been me, Nathan. I bring the bad luck. I’ve just tried to hide it.”

Nathan held on to her tightly. “That’s not true. This is not the result of a malcontent spirit. But it is preying on your mind, and I will do **everything** in my power to keep you safe and well. I won’t lose anyone else dear to me – I won’t. In London, we could seek treatment and…”

“No.”

“Please consider it, darling.”

“You will lock me away in one of those awful asylums!” she cried, breaking free of him and staring accusingly.

“I would never do that, Charlotte. I love you far too much. But I can’t abide seeing you like this. I think that you may be suffering from acute anxiety, and some form of therapy might help.”

“So, now you are diagnosing me?! And you will send me to one of your esteemed psychologist friends,” shouted Charlotte angrily. “They will find out all our secrets. Not just mine, Nathan, all of your secrets too, the ones that you tried to bury but that wouldn’t stay beneath. Everything that’s happened at Shepzoy. Everything we’ve endured here.” She balled up her hands into fists and placed them over her eyes, so she didn’t have to contemplate it.

Nathan reeled at her harsh words, but tried to reassert himself. “Charlotte, we should have moved away from here before Maddie was born. Look what this place has done to us. Staying here will not have a good end. I am resolute in this matter.” He gently guided her to the window seat and stayed with her there, soothing her softly, until the tension fully left her body and the overwhelming tiredness seeped back in.

**Shepzoy House, December 2017**

Charlotte looked up at the house. Their house. Everything felt new. The house had been brought back to its best; Nathan had a new lease of life. She’d started that year not expecting to find that, by the end of it, she would have moved in with someone new – someone who accepted her and loved her for who she was, without reservation.

She stepped onto the doorstep and, even though Nathan had given her a key, she rang the pulley bell, hearing it chime in the hallway.

Nathan flung the door open and enveloped her in an embrace, whispering in her ear: “Welcome home.”

They stepped inside, and shut the door.

**Shepzoy House, December 1895**

Nathan had already helped Charlotte into the carriage, and her pale face showed in profile through the window. From the doorstep, Gwen handed Maddie to him, having taken the opportunity to kiss the baby’s plump cheek one more time.

“Are you sure I can’t tempt you to come with us, Gwen? The offer still stands.”

“No, sir. I belong here in Shepzoy.” She ventured to ask the question that she hadn’t dared ask before: “Do you think you’ll come back here, sir?”

“I don’t know Gwen. When Mrs Appleby is fully well, perhaps. Maybe in the spring. Thank you again for caretaking the place for us. If you need anything at all, you have our London address.”

Nathan nodded gratefully to Gwen and opened the carriage door. Bowing his head, he climbed inside with Maddie. The carriage took them away, rocking and clattering down the driveway.

“Godspeed,” murmured Gwen, before turning to check the lock on the front door. She walked away from the house, down the lane she’d trod on a moonlit night less than a year ago. She thought that Shepzoy House would be empty for some time to come.


	5. Epilogue

**Shepzoy, January**

It could be the start of any given year. The fleeting clouds cross the surface of the moon. The pale light reveals the lane leading to Shepzoy House, the trees on either side cloaking the wood in complete darkness.

The cycle of nature continues. The moon waxes and wanes in the space of a month. The years roll on in an endless round of winter, spring, summer, autumn.

Everything changes, said Charlotte.

That’s not true, said Nathan. You need a constant, otherwise you’d go mad. How I love you will endure. It won’t change. I know that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Colin Morgan (who played Nathan Appleby) commented in [a BBC interview](https://youtu.be/5mOKVRLe9Q0?list=PLTIh6IIOJ0zQPF_DFySgLF8A7-x7HIq5D) that ‘The Living and The Dead’ is “essentially a story about a couple whose relationship is put to the test.” 
> 
> Nathan and Charlotte’s relationship, and how they endure despite obstacles and setbacks, is at the heart of this story.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [ART inspired by Those Who Are Left Behind](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11327856) by [Merlocked18](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merlocked18/pseuds/Merlocked18)




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